Danger on the High Seas
by nhsweetcherry
Summary: Because Gordon can't just go fishing without ending up in trouble!
1. Chapter 1

_I am far from an expert on anything ocean and ship related, so there's a decent chance that I have some flawed logic and terminology in here. I did the best I could, though!_

 _I do not own the Thunderbirds, and I am making no profit from this story._

 **Chapter One**

Gordon set aside his fishing rod and wiped sweat from his face before turning to root around in his ice chest for a cold bottle of water. Although it wasn't even nine o'clock in the morning, the sun was already hot, and it would only get hotter throughout the day. He glanced toward a nearby island – not Tracy Island, but a much smaller one in the same chain – and thought that when he got hungry for lunch, maybe he'd pull up on the beach and find some shade under the trees.

The azure water sparkled all around him in the morning sunlight, and his boat rocked slightly in the gentle waves. Just a Monday off with a boat and the Pacific – all he could ask for, right? Still, he sighed as he looked around – there was just one more thing that would have made this the perfect day. He opened up a communications link on his watch. "Hey, Alan, you don't know what you're missing out on," he said.

There was a metallic clang and a slight hiss of pain before Alan answered out loud, "On the contrary, I know _exactly_ what I'm missing out on – a sunburn! And a long time sitting in a boat, catching an occasional fish that you'll just make me throw back anyway! No thanks – I'm perfectly happy here in the air-conditioning, working on my Camaro."

"You going to paint flames on it?" Gordon asked. He glanced down at his arms and winced, reaching for the sunscreen. Alan was right about the sunburn, anyway…

"Nah, the original paint's in good shape, and it's a rare color. It's better to leave it as is. So no one else wanted to go with you either?"

Gordon shrugged. "You know Scott – unless it's big, exciting fish like sharks or tuna, he's not interested. Virgil's in a piano mood, and Johnny's not here." Virgil or John would sometimes tag along if Gordon gave them puppy dog eyes for long enough, although they didn't usually participate in the actual fishing. Virgil would bring along a sketch pad and John a book. Alan was more like Scott – he got antsy if there wasn't plenty of action.

"Well, tell Grandma to call me if she wants me to bring any fish home for dinner," Gordon started to say, then trailed off, distracted by movement along the edge of the island. As the object of his attention came fully into his sight, he suddenly laughed in pure delight. "Hey, Al, you're actually missing out on _plenty_ this time," he said. "You'll never believe what I'm seeing right now!"

"What? What is it?" Alan demanded.

"A replica eighteenth-century galleon," Gordon breathed, feasting his eyes on the beautiful ship gliding his way. "The _Sea Bird_ ," he added, as she came close enough for him to read her name. He snorted as he noticed one particular detail. "Huh – she's flying the Jolly Roger. Not sure if that's cool or stupid, but it does make her look like a real pirate ship! I think the crew might even be in period costumes."

The crew had spotted him, and to his surprise, they seemed to be going out of their way to approach him.

"Hey, I think they're coming over to say hi," Gordon said. "I'll catch you later, Al!"

"All right, have fun," Alan said. "Careful they don't try to shanghai you!"

"Right," Gordon snorted. "See ya!" He broke the connection.

A deep voice boomed across the water. "Ahoy, there!"

Gordon grinned and waved. "Ahoy, yourself," he called back. "Beautiful ship you've got there!" He had to tilt his head back as the multi-decked, three-masted galleon drew gradually closer and finally glided alongside him, dropping anchor with a splash.

A man wearing a huge, feathered hat leaned over the gunwale far above Gordon's head. "Care to come aboard, young man? I'm on a pleasure cruise, and half the pleasure is in showing off my ship!"

"I'd love to!" Gordon said.

A moment later, a rope ladder came tumbling down toward him; he caught the end and quickly climbed aboard, vaulting neatly over the gunwale onto the deck.

The man with the feathered hat greeted him with a hearty handshake. "Captain Bloom, at your service," he said.

"Gordon Tracy," Gordon replied, returning the handshake.

Some strange expression flickered briefly across the captain's face, before hiding behind a benevolent smile. "Ah, you must come from Tracy Island, then. One of the famous Jeff Tracy's sons, I presume?"

Gordon smiled easily, long accustomed to people knowing exactly who his father was. "That's right."

"And if I recall correctly, _you_ won an Olympic Gold for swimming a few years ago…I take it your interest in the water extends to boats and ships as well?" Captain Bloom queried, gesturing to Gordon's boat, a carefully restored antique wooden speedboat.

"Yes, sir," Gordon replied. "We've got a few nice boats and yachts on the island, but nothing anywhere near as beautiful as this one. I'm not sure I've ever seen a better replica."

"Well, how would you like a quick tour?"

"That'd be fantastic," Gordon said. "That is, as long as it's not an imposition."

"No, no imposition at all," the captain replied. "As I said before, it's a pleasure to show her off."

They started walking, Captain Bloom keeping up a running commentary. Gordon let the man's words flow over him, too polite to mention that he didn't exactly need the beginners' version of the tour. Though he'd never had hands-on experience with such an old-fashioned ship, he'd done enough studying to know his way around fairly well.

As they made their way through the galleon, a few odd things caught Gordon's attention. First, he realized that Bloom actually didn't seem to know much about the ship – he glossed over a lot of the details that normally would have been part of a tour, and when Gordon asked specific questions, a blank look usually flitted across Bloom's face before he ad-libbed something or changed the subject.

Second, the crew was not only a lot fewer in number than Gordon would have expected for a fully-functioning galleon, but they clearly weren't taking very good care of the ship. The billowing sails, which had been breathtaking from a distance, were in rather poor repair when viewed from a closer vantage point, and they were not in the ideal position for the wind conditions. The decks were dirty, the knots poorly tied, and the brass needed to be polished.

Finally, there was the matter of the persistent vibration that Gordon could feel through his feet. "Is she – does she have… _engines_?" he finally asked, unable to hold back the question any longer.

Captain Bloom chuckled. "Perceptive, aren't you?" he said, although somehow it didn't come out sounding like a compliment. "Yeah, she's retrofitted with some real dandy equipment. After all, we sometimes like to move a little faster than seven or eight knots!"

The captain wouldn't let Gordon see the engines, though, insisting that he didn't want to ruin the authentic feel of the ship for his guest. In fact, he very deliberately steered Gordon away from several doors and passageways.

Eventually they made their way back up to the main deck. Gordon was almost glad that it was time to leave, although he was careful to hide his feelings. He thought that he might have to do some research on this ship and its captain once he got back to the island – he couldn't quite put his finger on it, but there was definitely something strange going on aboard the _Sea_ _Bird._

A crewman suddenly hurried up to the captain. With a glance toward Gordon, he told Bloom, "He's the real deal, all right – he's definitely Jeff Tracy's kid. The scanners don't show any other boats in the area, so there's no risk of interference, but he's got some kind of a radio in his watch that his family can probably use to track him."

"So we'll have to lose the watch, then," Bloom said calmly. He turned toward Gordon. "All right, Gordon, tour's over. You are now our prisoner. Hand over your watch."

Gordon stood frozen for a split second, unable to believe what he was hearing. As it began to register, though, he whipped around to make a break for the rope ladder – only to skid to a halt as a group of several men stepped forward to block his way.

He turned back toward Bloom. "What is this?" he demanded angrily.

Bloom shrugged. "You saw the Skull and Crossbones flag, I'm sure. Well, we're really pirates. We stole this ship a couple weeks ago in the hopes that it would help us get close to high-profile targets." He grinned, his eyes cold. "The plan is to invite them aboard, make them think they're getting the tour of a lifetime – and then rob them blind. In your case, since you don't have anything of value with you, we'll just have to see if your rich daddy can spare a few dollars in exchange for your release."

"Oh yeah?" Gordon snapped. "We'll see about that!"

Gordon launched himself forward and downed Bloom with one solid punch to the jaw. The crewman who had been speaking with Bloom stepped toward Gordon, fists raised, but Gordon stopped him short with a kick to the gut.

The rest of the crew surged forward, clearly hoping to subdue him by sheer force of numbers. What they didn't count on, however, was Gordon's expertise in dodging – brought on largely by a lifetime of running away from brothers he'd just pranked. Gordon wove his way through the group of men, ducking under swinging arms and tripping one assailant. He staggered slightly when an elbow caught him in the mouth and split his lip, sending blood dripping down his front, but he didn't let that stop him. He made it a couple more steps before a hand caught hold of his collar; he simply twisted completely out of the half-buttoned shirt and was free again.

Leaping onto the railing, he stood poised for a split second, calculating a dive trajectory that wouldn't break his neck, but then someone made a grab for him and knocked him off balance. He teetered on the edge, nearly falling, before multiple hands seized him and dragged him back onto the ship. Kicking his legs out from under him, the men slammed him down onto the deck and twisted his arms behind his back.

Bloom stormed up, sporting a bruise on his jaw, his face red with fury. "Nobody gets away with hitting me – _nobody_!" he shouted. He drew back his foot and kicked Gordon in the ribs.

Gordon bit back a yelp of pain and tried to jerk free, but his captors kept him tightly pinned down.

One man leapt up and pulled Bloom away before he could kick Gordon again, talking fast. "Hey, Bloom, keep it together, man – we need him in decent shape, or maybe Tracy won't pay up!"

Someone tugged the watch off Gordon's wrist and handed it to Bloom, who had managed to calm himself down at the mention of money.

"Right," Bloom said. "I'll leave the watch and a note for his daddy in his boat. You lot, tie him up and prepare for departure." He scooped something up from the deck and disappeared down the rope ladder.

"You won't get away with this," Gordon snapped as the men dragged him to his feet and marched him across the deck. "When my dad and brothers find me, you're all gonna wish you had never been born!" He winced as they shoved him against the main mast and pulled his arms behind it, tying his wrists together.

Most of the crew dispersed, ignoring Gordon. After a minute, Bloom climbed back on board, pulling the rope ladder up and leaving it in an untidy heap on the deck.

"You hear that, Bloom?" Gordon shouted, straining against his bonds. A distant part of his brain pointed out that shouting wouldn't solve anything, but he was too angry to care. His brothers always said that it took a lot for Gordon's temper to explode, but when it did, the whole island knew about it. "You don't know who you're messing with!" He forced himself to lower his voice a couple notches. "You let me go right now, and maybe – just _maybe_ – my family will go a little easier on you. Otherwise, you're in for more trouble than you can even imagine!"

Bloom approached him, eyes glittering with malice. "Yeah, like I'd be scared of a bunch of pretty boy rich guys," he sneered. He nodded toward a crewman. "Gag him, will you, Marco?"

Marco deftly avoided a few kicks as he slapped a strip of duct tape over Gordon's mouth, silencing the redhead's dire invectives.

With the power of speech taken away from him, Gordon settled for glaring as fiercely as possible at every crewman who came within his field of vision. They didn't seem particularly bothered, and not for the first time Gordon wished he could figure out how Scott's glare affected people so much more than his did.

The throbbing of the engines increased in volume, and a gentle breeze wafted over Gordon as the ship picked up speed. As they left the island behind, the full weight of the situation seemed to settle down on Gordon's shoulders – he had been kidnapped, and it would probably be hours before his family discovered that he was missing. Once they found out, they would begin searching immediately, but how would they track him down with his watch gone? The Pacific was a big place when one was looking for a single ship!

Suddenly feeling weary and hopeless, he wiggled his way down the mast until he was sitting on the deck, grimacing as his joints and muscles protested the strange position of his arms.

It was up to him, he realized suddenly, straightening his shoulders. _Maybe_ his family could pull some sort of a rabbit out of a hat and find him on their own, but more likely, Gordon himself would be the key element of his own rescue. He'd have to keep on his toes and be ready to take any opportunity either to escape or to signal his family. Feeling more confident with a tiny bit of a plan in place, he smirked as he leaned back against the mast. In pitting themselves against Gordon Tracy and his family, the crew of the _Sea Bird_ really had no idea what they were getting themselves into.


	2. Chapter 2

**Chapter Two**

When Alan went upstairs for lunch, he passed along Gordon's message to Grandma.

"Well, I've already got plans for dinner," she replied. "Could you please call him back after lunch, dear, and tell him that I don't need any fish tonight?"

"Sure, Grandma," Alan said.

Over lunch, Alan told the family about Gordon's excitement at spotting the galleon. "If he doesn't come home, we'll know he's joined the crew in sailing around the world, or something," he said dryly.

"I wouldn't put it past him," Virgil agreed.

Scott looked thoughtful. "What'd you say the ship's name was?"

"The _Sea Gull,_ or _Sea Bird_ , or something like that," Alan said. "Why?"

Scott shrugged. "I'm not sure. I just thought it sounded familiar, like I'd read the name sometime recently. I'll look it up after lunch."

"Well, I just hope he doesn't decide he wants to add a galleon to his boat collection," Jeff said.

Alan laughed. "We'd have to build a bigger boat shed, that's for sure!"

After lunch, Scott headed straight to the computer in the lounge. Alan trailed after him, trying to raise Gordon on the wrist comm. He used a discreet tone signal first – if Gordon was still aboard the galleon, he would acknowledge the communication by sending a tone back. Then, as soon as Gordon was alone, he would call for a real conversation. Gordon didn't respond to the tone, though.

Frowning, Alan tried again – and again, still with no response. Finally, he tried speaking. "Gordon, come in. Gords? You there?"

Scott was frowning too as he worked on the computer. He looked over the top of the screen at Alan. "He's not answering?"

Alan shook his head and tried something different. "Thunderbird Five, come in."

John's response was immediate. "Yeah, Al, what's up?"

"John, can you tell me where Gordon is right now? He's not responding to my calls."

"Sure, just give me a sec…uh, okay, it looks like he's out fishing. He's in his favorite spot by that little island, and he must be just sitting in his boat – the signal's not moving. Why? Is something wrong?"

Alan said, "No," just as Scott said, "Maybe."

Alan looked over at Scott, confused. "What? What did you find?"

"Come see this." Scott pointed to the screen, his face grim. "The _Sea Bird_ , right? Here's where I heard her name – I saw this report a couple weeks ago about a replica galleon that had been stolen. I was going to tell Gordon, but we got a rescue call right afterward and I completely forgot about it until you mentioned it today." His eyes hardened as he skimmed the article. "Two of the crew were killed, and several more were injured in the attack. The survivors were left to drift in one of the lifeboats; it's a miracle that they ended up in a shipping lane and were rescued."

Alan read over Scott's shoulder, "Thought to be an act of piracy…if spotted, call the police…avoid contact with the crew, as they may be armed and dangerous." He groaned. "Gordon said they were flying the Jolly Roger. He thought it was a joke."

Scott shoved back his chair. "All right, let's go. John, keep trying to contact Gordon."

"FAB," John replied.

Jeff had entered the room at some point. "Keep me posted, Scott," he said, his face calm except for a telltale crease between his eyebrows.

"Will do," Scott called back over his shoulder as he hurried down the hall, Alan hot on his heels.

Virgil spotted them and tagged along; they filled him in on the details on the way down to the boat shed.

They chose the fastest boat in the fleet, a sleek, modern speedboat. Even in the fast boat, though, it took them ten minutes before they were drawing close to Gordon's fishing spot.

John chimed in then. "He's still not responding," he told them. He sounded matter-of-fact, but his brothers knew him well enough to catch the hint of worry in his voice. "The tracker signal hasn't moved at all."

Scott chose a course that would keep them out of sight until the last possible minute in case the galleon was nearby. When they pulled around the end of the island, though, Gordon's boat was the only one in sight – and it appeared to be empty.

"Maybe he's diving?" Alan suggested, although even as he said it, he knew there was no reason that Gordon would take off his watch to dive.

Scott didn't reply, his entire focus on the wooden speedboat. He pulled alongside and vaulted over into Gordon's boat. Virgil followed close behind, leaving Alan to hold the two boats together. Alan rolled his eyes but didn't protest, long accustomed to older brothers taking charge.

Virgil glanced in the ice chest. "He didn't eat his lunch," he announced.

"Or put away his rod," Scott replied.

Alan winced – Gordon loved his rod, and would never leave it unattended. "What about his diving gear?" he asked.

Scott looked in a cupboard. "Nope, still here," he said, his voice grim. He opened another cupboard – and froze.

"Scott?" Virgil asked, hurrying to his older brother's side. He too stiffened at what he saw.

"What?" Alan demanded, craning his neck, trying to see. "What is it?" He felt an odd sense of déjà vu, and realized that he'd said that same phrase or something similar a couple times already that day.

Scott seemed stuck in place. With a glance at him, Virgil reached into the cupboard and pulled out something colorful – it was one of Gordon's loud Hawaiian shirts, and more specifically, the one he had been wearing that morning. A few of the buttons had been torn off, and it had several dark spots of blood down the front. Something clattered to the deck, and Scott bent down to pick it up. It was Gordon's watch.

Alan recovered his voice first, his eyes going back to the shirt. "What's that in the pocket?" he asked, pointing to something white sticking out of the chest pocket of the shirt.

Scott reached for it.

"Fingerprints, Scott!" Virgil snapped.

Scott grimaced. "You really think we'll get the police in on this instead of handling it ourselves?" he asked. But he heeded Virgil's warning anyway, cautiously gripping the slip of paper by the edge and shaking it to open it.

Virgil grabbed the bottom edge of the note to hold it open. "'Jeff Tracy,'" he read out loud. "'We have your son Gordon. We'll be contacting you within a few days to tell you how you can get him back. In the meantime, I suggest you get some money ready – five million U.S. dollars, to be exact. Don't call the police, or this mouthy kid will get more than just a split lip.'"

By the end of the note, Virgil's voice sounded strained and Scott's free hand had clenched into a fist.

Alan was worried too, but despite that, he couldn't help but hide a smirk. Yeah, the crew of the _Sea Bird_ was in for a rude surprise if they thought that a bit of mouthiness was all they would deal with from Gordon. "So what do we do now?" he asked.

Scott raised his watch to his lips. "John, did you get all that?"

"Yeah, Scott," John replied, his voice low with anger. "I've been checking for ships in your area, but it's weird...Alan, what time did you talk to Gordon?"

"Uh, maybe eight thirty or nine."

"And you said this was a galleon, right? My research indicates that galleons had a top speed of seven or eight knots, which would put her at no more than forty miles out after four hours of travel…but the only ships showing on my scanners are more like one _hundred_ forty miles out."

"She must have engines," Virgil said. "That's the only possible explanation."

"Well, this speedboat can do, what, seventy knots?" Scott asked. "So if we leave now, we can catch up with the galleon in a couple hours."

" _If_ your gas lasts that long," John pointed out. "And _if_ I can figure out which boat it is – we don't know which way they sailed. Anyway, what exactly would you do when you got there? It's a big ship, and they've probably got a crew of at least a dozen." His voice dropped in pitch. "And besides, they've got Gordy. If they spotted you coming and figured out who you were, they would undoubtedly use him as a hostage."

Scott growled, looking like he wanted to punch something.

"Here's what I suggest," John said. "You guys head home. Have Dad work on getting the money together, just in case. I've noted the signal of each of the boats within a two-hundred-mile radius of Tracy Island, and I'll see if I can use satellite images and radio transmissions to shorten the list a little."

"How many are in that radius?" Scott asked.

"Several dozen," John replied.

Scott sighed. "All right. Keep us posted."

"FAB!" John signed off.

They pulled up Gordon's anchor and carefully packed his rod away before heading back to the island in the two boats. They rode in tense silence, none of them looking forward to showing their father the note.

As they put the boats away, Scott looked thoughtful. "Alan," he said. "Could you make sure the speedboat is gassed up and ready to go? Just in case?"

Alan shrugged and agreed, knowing that his oldest brother's mind was undoubtedly working at a hundred miles an hour, thinking through dozens of plans and ideas. It was why he was the Field Commander, after all – he had the ability to see the big picture and know what people and equipment to use in various situations.

He watched Scott and Virgil disappear with the shirt, watch and note, and suddenly the gravity of the situation hit him like a brick, leaving his hands shaking and his knees wobbly. His older brother – his best friend – was in the hands of men who had made him bleed. Suddenly Alan wished he had gone fishing with Gordon that morning after all. If there had been two of them there, maybe they would have been able to fight their way free. And even if they'd still been kidnapped, at least they would have had each other for moral support. Instead, Gordon was alone, in the clutches of modern-day pirates who hadn't hesitated to kill while stealing the galleon.

Alan hurried through his task, eager to get upstairs and see if Scott or his father had come up with some sort of a brilliant rescue plan.

 _Hang in there, Gordon,_ he thought. _We'll find you…somehow…_

All the rest of the day and well into the night, the residents of Tracy Island discussed the situation, making and scrapping plans, interrupted occasionally as John updated them on his work.

Throughout the course of the day, John had been able to eliminate most of the ships from his scanners through a variety of means – hacking into satellites, listening in on the ships' radio transmissions and even using on-shore security cameras to view a couple ships that had come within sight of inhabited land.

At the same time, he tried to keep an eye on other traffic that came close to the suspect ships, in case Gordon was transferred to another boat.

It was nearing midnight, and John was down to the final two ships on his scanners.

Alan watched his older brother on the screen, marveling at John's composure – he was clearly exhausted, his face lined with weariness and his eyes bloodshot, but his voice remained level and calm whenever he spoke.

Feeling the suspense, the family had grown quiet a few minutes earlier, and were simply watching John work, waiting with bated breath for his instruments to reveal the location of the galleon.

"All right," John said after a minute, sounding optimistic. "This one's a private yacht. That means, by default, that the last one must be the _Sea Bird._ Hang on – I'll try her on the radio to double check."

He turned off his screen for a minute – he hadn't told them what he was saying when he checked in with ships over the radio, and clearly he didn't want them to know. Jeff had frowned slightly each time John's screen went black, but he let it slide.

They waited in tense silence, trying not to fidget.

"No!"

John's uncharacteristically outraged shout startled them all; they leapt to their feet, clamoring for answers as the screen came back to life, revealing John's flushed face.

"It's not the _Sea Bird_!" John shouted, his voice suddenly tinged with panic. "But how is that even possible – how could I have missed it?" He slammed his fist down on the console, and then melted back into his seat, covering his face with his hands. His voice dropped down to a low murmur. "Guys, I'm sorry," he said. "I don't know what happened – I guess I must have made some sort of stupid mistake. This whole time – it's just been a wild goose chase. We've lost Gordon's trail completely, and it's all my fault." His shoulders slumped, and he reached toward the button that would cut the connection.

His father's sharp voice stopped him short.

"John!" Jeff snapped. "Look at me."

John reluctantly lifted his head and stared into the camera, his eyes dull with defeat.

"John," Jeff said softly. "This wasn't your fault. You did the best you could." He gave John a gentle smile. "Don't let yourself get discouraged. This is in Gordon's hands now, and you know how resourceful he is. I'm sure he'll figure out some way to let us know where he is. Barring that, we'll be ready when the kidnappers contact us – they have no idea of the technology we have on hand."

John's shoulders were a little straighter by the time Jeff finished. "You're right, Dad. I'm sorry for blowing up."

"There's nothing to be sorry for," Jeff said. "Now, I want everyone to go to bed – including you, John. There's nothing more we can do tonight. We're all exhausted; we'll think much more clearly in the morning."

The family dispersed reluctantly. They all slept fitfully that night, their dreams troubled.


	3. Chapter 3

**Chapter Three**

Gordon dropped the stiff-bristled brush into the bucket of soapy water and sat back on his heels, blowing a drop of sweat from the end of his nose. He surveyed the clean area of deck with considerable satisfaction, glad to have an outlet for his frustrations, even if it was practically slave labor.

He'd been kept tied to the mast for the remainder of the day and all night long while the galleon put distance between itself and Tracy Island. When Marco finally released him in the morning, Gordon hadn't been surprised to discover that he could hardly move. It took several minutes of stretching before he could slowly climb to his feet, shivering slightly in the cool morning breeze. He wondered what had happened to his shirt.

As soon as Captain Bloom had seen him standing, he stalked up to him. "All right, kid," he had said bluntly. "If you're familiar with these waters, you know that any escape attempt would be suicide – basically, we're in the middle of nowhere. Your pretty gold medal doesn't mean a thing this far from shore!"

Gordon nodded stiffly. He had kept track of their whereabouts as best as he could throughout the night, and knew that Bloom was telling him the truth.

Bloom continued, "You'll be treated all right as long as you cooperate and don't try to give us trouble. And finally–" He shoved a bucket and brush toward Gordon. "If you want to eat on this trip, then you've got to earn your food! Get to work!"

All kinds of hot words had immediately sprung into Gordon's mouth, but he bit them back and nodded meekly. He had two reasons for doing so – first, he had decided during the night to act as though he'd given up fighting, in hopes that his kidnappers would let their guard down and he'd get a chance to signal his family. And second – he hid a wry smile as he admitted this one to himself – the poor condition of the ship was driving him batty – after all, it wasn't her fault that she was in the hands of men who wouldn't take care of her.

He'd been scrubbing for an hour so far, and had kept his head down and his ears open as he worked, picking up information about the crew – names, crimes they'd committed and tactics they planned to use in robbing other ships.

The most alarming fact he'd overheard was that in stealing the galleon, they had killed two of its crew members – and they didn't seem all that broken up over it, either. This didn't lead Gordon to have great confidence that they would return him safely to his family once the ransom was paid. He suspected that the best they might do for him would be to set him adrift in a small boat with no oars, as they had done with the galleon's original crew.

He was beginning to get lightheaded from hunger; it occurred to him that it had been more than twenty-four hours since he'd eaten anything. He shoved himself up to his feet, wincing at stiff muscles. His left side was particularly sore; he didn't think Bloom's kick had broken any ribs, but it had left a dark bruise.

Bloom, who seemed to spend most of his time stalking imperiously around the deck, zeroed in on him. "What are you doing?" he demanded harshly. "Keep working!"

Gordon forced himself to keep his voice calm. "I'm not stopping. I just need food and water before I can keep going." A chance to learn more of the layout of the ship could come in handy, too. He tried to look pathetic, which wasn't too hard, considering that he was tired, dirty, sweaty and only half-clothed.

Bloom glared at him, but shrugged after a moment. "Fine." He glanced around and spotted a man who had come up for a smoke. "Hey, Ricky, take the kid down to the galley, would you?"

Ricky proved to be a man of few words. He flicked his cigarette overboard and gestured for Gordon to precede him through the companionway hatch that led below deck. Once they were below, he simply shoved Gordon in the direction he wanted him to go rather than speaking to him.

Gordon tried to engage him in conversation – "So…have you always wanted to be a pirate?" – but quickly discovered that his efforts were in vain. So instead, he concentrated on memorizing the route to the galley. The passageways below deck were narrow and dimly lit, but Gordon didn't mind – the galleon actually felt quite roomy compared to some submarines he'd been in.

The galley had been tastefully modernized, complete with a large fridge stocked with plenty of supplies. Gordon fixed himself a couple sandwiches and sat at a small table to eat them, making himself take his time despite Ricky's unwavering stare. When he finished eating, he tucked a granola bar in his pocket and grabbed a couple extra water bottles to bring with him, deciding that it was better to be safe than sorry, in case he wasn't allowed back in the galley later that day.

Ricky didn't object; he just shrugged and shoved Gordon back down the hall.

Gordon dragged his feet on the way, keeping his eyes open for anything interesting. Part of the way down one hall, he got his wish – a door opened, giving Gordon a brief glimpse into a room full of high-tech computer and radio equipment. The man who had opened the door blinked at Gordon in surprise, then scowled.

Ricky's hand struck Gordon in the middle of his back, sending him stumbling forward once more. Gordon counted doors the rest of the way up to the deck so that he'd know where to find the room again if he got the chance.

Ricky deposited him on the deck and wandered away, lighting another cigarette. Gordon went back to his scrubbing, feeling somewhat better with some food inside him, but gloomy and discouraged at the general lack of friendly faces around him.

In the late afternoon, he approached Bloom again. "I'm going down to the galley to get more food and water," he told the man. "I'll be back up in five minutes."

Bloom stared hard at him and glanced around the deck, but Gordon had purposefully picked a time when everyone else had gone below. They were running the _Sea Bird_ under sail for a little while, so Bloom couldn't leave the ship's wheel to escort Gordon himself. "Five minutes," Bloom snapped. "I'll be counting."

Gordon hurried down to the galley and quickly scarfed down another couple sandwiches. On the way back up to the deck, toting more water bottles, he cautiously poked his head into a couple rooms. One, close to the galley, contained a set of stairs going down to a lower level. The other was a cabin with several bunks. One bunk was occupied by a snoring figure. Hearing footsteps behind him, Gordon trotted back up to the main deck before he could be caught snooping.

He worked all the rest of that day, and had no energy to protest when Bloom tied him to the mast again at night. Sitting there in the dark, he wondered if his plan was the best – the results so far had been disappointing, to say the least. But the only other option was to fight back, and there were just too many men for that to be realistic – he would probably only get himself tied to the mast until his dad paid up, and then they would most likely kill him. At least if he pretended to be compliant, he had some freedom to move around and learn the layout of the ship.

Discouraged, but too exhausted to keep thinking, he slumped back against the mast and slipped into a fitful doze, hoping that the morning might bring some progress toward freedom.


	4. Chapter 4

_Sorry this one's so short…the next one is quite a bit longer!_

 **Chapter Four**

At about the time that Gordon was beginning to scrub the deck of the _Sea Bird_ , Jeff Tracy was hanging up his phone with a tired sigh. He hit a button on his computer.

"Tracy Island to Thunderbird Five," he said.

John's face appeared on the screen, weary but much more calm than the night before. "Go ahead, Dad," he replied.

"I just thought you'd like to know that the _Sea Bird_ is equipped with a state-of-the-art cloaking device," Jeff told him. "I just finished talking with the ship's owner, and it turns out that he likes to live off the grid."

John's expression lightened. "I wondered about that, but it hardly seemed plausible on something like a galleon," he murmured. Then he frowned. "Well, I'm glad to be let off the hook, but that doesn't help us find Gordon. Did the owner have anything to say that might be useful in tracking the ship?"

"Unfortunately, no. Actually, just the opposite – he said that she was stocked up for a long journey, and if the crew is careful with their food and fuel, they won't have to put in to shore for at least a couple more weeks." Jeff scanned his notes. "Oh, he did give me the serial numbers for the ship's radio and the cloaking device. You can't do anything with those, can you?"

"I'll take them," John said promptly. "I'll call the radio manufacturer and see if they install any sort of tracking chips in their products."

Jeff read him the numbers.

John immediately looked more cheerful with something to work on. "Okay, thanks, Dad. I'll let you know if I turn anything up." He signed off.

Hearing shuffling feet, Jeff looked up and wasn't surprised to see that the rest of his sons had filed into the room and had clearly heard the conversation.

"What can we do to help, Dad?" Alan asked.

Jeff sighed. His boys weren't going to like what he had to say. "Unfortunately, not much for the time being," he said.

They all opened their mouths to protest, and he held up a hand to stop them. "Not much," he continued, "except that I want all of you to be ready in case anything does come up. Scott and Virgil, I want you two to check on the airplanes and the helijet. Make sure they're fueled, in perfect repair and fully stocked with emergency supplies. Alan, you do the same with the boats. That way, when we learn the _Sea Bird's_ location, we'll be ready to go in an instant."

"What about the Thunderbirds?" Virgil asked.

"They are an absolute last resort," Jeff told him firmly.

"Four could potentially be the best way to get to the ship unseen," Scott pointed out, conflicting emotions warring on his face. More than any of his brothers, Scott took the secrecy of International Rescue as a personal responsibility – but if it came down to it, the safety of his brothers would always come first.

Jeff stood his ground. "We'll play it by ear, but I remind you that these people know who we are. If the Thunderbirds are seen rescuing Gordon, you all know that there could be serious repercussions."

Scott, Virgil and Alan nodded.

As they turned to leave, Alan asked, "What are you going to be doing, Dad?"

Jeff grimaced. "I'll be working on rounding up five million dollars."

The first part of the day passed quickly, with everyone doing their part to prepare for any eventuality – including Grandma, who coped with the stress by baking up a storm – but during the afternoon and evening, time seemed to slow to a standstill and everyone somehow ended up back in the lounge.

John's research on the radio's serial number had proven to be a dead end, so he had nothing new to report.

The ideas flew back and forth around the lounge, ranging from searching the entire Pacific with the Thunderbirds, to trying to modify Five's scanners to pick up all cloaked vessels.

In the end, they headed to their rooms in tense silence, faced with the discouraging thought that Gordon had been missing for over thirty-six hours and they had not been able to do a single constructive thing toward finding him.


	5. Chapter 5

**Chapter Five**

A crewman named Harvey untied Gordon Wednesday morning. He was the opposite of Ricky, fidgeting and chattering away while Gordon painfully worked his way up to his feet.

"Must be nice having your own island," Harvey said. "Although I wouldn't be able to stand living with my old man – I hated him so much that I ran away from home when I was fourteen. I like this life – sailing around, spending a few days here and a few weeks there, and then moving on, a bit richer. Or sometimes, a bit poorer. You never know." He grinned, revealing a mouthful of yellow teeth.

Gordon was more or less upright, but had to lean against the mast while he waited for the pins and needles in his limbs to subside. "What about the piracy, though?" he asked quietly. "Doesn't the stealing get to you?"

Harvey shrugged. "Nah. I've been stealing since I was a kid – had to, to survive. Now it's just habit, I guess. Besides, most of these people are so filthy rich that they won't miss a little bit of money or jewelry." Fidgeting impatiently, he grabbed Gordon's arm. "C'mon, I'm supposed to get you some breakfast, and then Bloom wants you to polish all the brass."

Gordon allowed himself to be led toward the galley. "Speaking of polishing the brass," he said with a weary sigh, "if this ship is supposed to be your big moneymaking scheme, why don't you guys take better care of her?"

"Well, Bloom says we'll probably only use the ship for a few weeks before we ditch it – the cloaking system's nice, but the ship itself is kind of easy to spot."

Gordon stopped short. "Cloaking system?" he repeated, startled. "On a galleon?" Then he shrugged – if she had engines, why not some other high-tech equipment too? He decided to test Harvey's gullibility. "Where is the cloaking device?"

Harvey gestured casually with his thumb. "In the radio room with all that other equipment, I guess. I don't really have anything to do with all that stuff."

"Yeah, my brothers don't like me to mess with tech-related things either," Gordon replied. "Computers and I aren't always on the greatest of terms."

Harvey stared at him. "Your brothers all live at home too, huh?"

"Yep – we're just one big, happy, crazy family!"

"Weird," Harvey muttered.

"Yeah," Gordon agreed. "But I wouldn't trade them for anything." He looked Harvey in the eye. "What do you think are the chances that Bloom will actually let me go once my Dad pays the ransom?"

A shutter seemed to drop over Harvey's face. "Here's the galley," he said. "I'll wait out here."

As he ate a bowl of oatmeal, Gordon thought about the cloaking device, wondering if it would do any good to turn it off. He decided that it probably wouldn't help his situation unless he could also send John some sort of a radio signal at the same time.

So that meant that he needed to get into the radio room somehow. It would be easy enough to overpower Harvey, but how many men would be inside the room? If the day before was any indication, it seemed like they kept at least one man inside the room at all times. And then, once Gordon got in, he would be facing unfamiliar equipment. He would have to quickly identify the cloaking device and disable it somehow, then get on the radio and call John. At least that bit wouldn't be hard, thanks to the ingenious word recognition software on Thunderbird Five – he could use any frequency to call for International Rescue.

He frowned as one thing occurred to him – in case anyone overheard him, he would have to pretend that he didn't know John, but was just some random kidnapped stranger calling for help. Hopefully John would be quick enough on his toes to play along.

His heart was beating fast as he grabbed a water bottle and re-joined Harvey in the hallway. When they were nearing the radio room door, he let his water bottle swing from his fingertips and fall to the floor. It rolled close to Harvey's feet, and just as Gordon had hoped, the pirate bent down to pick it up.

Before Gordon could make his move to overpower Harvey, though, a harsh voice echoed down the companionway.

"Harvey! What's taking you guys so long? Bloom wants the kid working, not stuffing his face all day long!"

A burly man stomped down the hall and grabbed Gordon's arm; Harvey quickly passed Gordon his water bottle before the man marched him up to the deck.

"Thanks, Harvey," Gordon sighed.

Okay, so his first attempt had failed, but maybe he'd get another chance to try again later.

The crewman delivered him to Bloom, who shoved rags and brass cleaner into his hands and told him to get to it.

A couple hours later, Gordon paused to flex his cramping fingers. He glanced around, checking to see if there was any chance he could sneak below deck. Bloom was definitely keeping an eye on him, though, and there were several other men on the deck, although most of them were just lounging around, waiting for something to happen – as they had been doing for the past two days.

They got their wish. At that moment, there was a sudden hubbub as a man burst up from below deck. "Cap!" he called. "We got a yacht off the port bow! I've run her name, and she's a real fancy one!"

"All right, round the men up, Harvey," Bloom snapped. "Ed, you get the kid below – put him in the hold, and make sure he can't make a sound, all right?"

Gordon's mind raced as he watched a man – presumably Ed – make his way across the multi-leveled deck toward him. He glanced across the waves and saw the yacht in the distance. He wondered what sort of people were aboard…if they didn't have enough money with them, would Bloom hold them for ransom too? If they _did_ have money, jewelry or other fine possessions for the pirates to steal, what would Bloom do to them after he was done with them? Would he just let them go, or would he damage their yacht and let it drift at the mercy of the Pacific?

Or would the people on the yacht pay the ultimate price for unwittingly crossing the path of the _Sea Bird?_ The pirates had clearly shown that they were willing to kill…were the occupants of the yacht even now being drawn to their death?

Gordon's jaw tightened as he considered this possibility. On the one hand, he was a victim himself, and no one would blame him if he kept his mouth shut and didn't resist as Ed brought him below. On the other hand, he had committed his life to saving others', and although fighting back might ruin his own chances at escape, he knew that he'd be battling his conscience for the rest of time if he did nothing.

In the end, the decision was a no-brainer. As Ed reached for him with a gruff, "C'mon, kid," Gordon lashed out with a flat-handed chop to the side of Ed's neck.

The crewman crumpled to the deck, and Gordon leapt onto the ratlines, climbing quickly up the shrouds into the rigging.

Shouts sounded from the deck.

"Hey! Get him down from there!" Bloom bellowed. "We can't approach that yacht until he's out of sight!"

"That's the idea," Gordon shouted back, grinning. He swung himself up into the crow's nest and scanned the ocean, estimating how long he'd have to hold out. He grimaced – it would probably be at least ten minutes before the yacht was a safe distance away.

He looked down toward the deck and laughed – a cluster of men stood at the base of the foremast, clearly arguing over who would go up after Gordon. "Chickens!" he hollered. Not the most mature thing, perhaps, but, hey – he hadn't had any fun in a couple days. He intended to make the most of his few minutes of relative freedom.

Bloom stalked over to the men. "Just get up there – all of you!" he shouted.

Three of the men reluctantly gave in, beginning the long climb up the net-like shrouds.

Gordon looked around for anything he could use as a weapon, but came up empty-handed. He did see a way to prolong his freedom, however. He waited until the first man was just pulling himself over the edge of the crow's nest, then jumped up and grabbed the horizontal line that ran from the foremast to the main mast. He made sure not to look down as he swung himself out into empty space, moving hand-over-hand high above the deck.

The man who had made it up into the crow's nest shouted after him, but didn't dare take the same path. The other two, who had still been climbing the ratlines, started back down.

Gordon dropped neatly into the main mast crow's nest and hurried to look over the edge, panting slightly. He might have to build a ropes course somewhere on the island as a training exercise, he thought absently.

There was movement below as men rushed to the base of the main mast. More scrambled up onto the shroud lines this time. Gordon counted six men on their way up, leaving only Bloom on the deck. The three men who had initially pursued him up the foremast had almost made it back down to the deck.

A quick glance toward the ocean showed that the yacht was nearly out of range.

Grinning, Gordon once again waited until the first man was almost in the crow's nest, then grabbed hold of the horizontal line and starting swinging back across to the foremast. "Catch me if you can!" he called over his shoulder.

He was about halfway across when he felt an odd vibration in the line. Twisting his head around, his heart dropped into his stomach as he saw someone – Ed, he was pretty sure – sawing away at the line with a knife.

With a jolt, the line snapped, and Gordon quickly adjusted his grip as he found himself swinging at high speed toward the foremast.

Ricky and Marco had hurried to climb the foremast's shroud lines so they could catch him. Gordon shifted his weight a second too late to kick Ricky, and instead careened straight into the men's waiting arms.

More men clambered up to help pull Gordon down to the deck. His fighting blood up, Gordon struggled the whole way, but with six men hanging on to him, he couldn't get any purchase to really fight back.

They wrestled him down to the deck and struggled to hold him in place as Bloom charged over, eyes blazing with cold anger. Bloom stopped and studied Gordon for a minute as though he was something nasty he'd found on the bottom of his shoe.  
Gordon met Bloom's gaze defiantly, chin raised. "Yeah? You got something to say?" he demanded.

Bloom looked at him grimly. "I was just wondering if your dead body would be worth anything to your father," he growled, "because I have to say that I'm beginning to question whether it's really worth keeping you alive."

Gordon ignored the chill that rippled down his spine and plastered a grin on his face. "Hey, I was just trying to do you guys a favor – your men looked like they could use a little exercise!"

Bloom's face darkened. "Gordon," he said coldly. "I told you that you would be treated all right if you cooperated. Since you have chosen not to cooperate, things are going to be a little different around here from now on." He took a step back. "Men, Gordon's shenanigans kept us from getting a good haul from that yacht. Go ahead and show him what you think of that!"

The men around Gordon shifted menacingly, digging their fingers more tightly into his arms, voicing their anger in little growls and murmurs.

Ed was the first to move, stalking stiff-legged toward him, fists clenched and face hard. "You knock me down, kid, and you gotta pay the price," he growled.

Fierce anger rushed through Gordon, making his heart thunder and crystallizing his focus. It was simply not in his nature to stand still and take a beating. He looked Ed in the eye. "I don't think so," he ground out.

Ed charged in with a roar, fist heading for Gordon's face – but then stumbled when suddenly Gordon wasn't there.

Gordon, at the last possible second, had let himself fall limp. The men holding his arms kept him from dropping all the way to the deck, and Gordon propelled himself back up from a crouch, butting Ed in the stomach with the top of his head and sending the man sprawling backwards, winded.

By stomping on Ricky's foot, Gordon was able to jerk his left arm free and swing around to deliver a knockout punch to Marco on his right. Someone coiled an arm around his neck from behind; he jabbed his elbow sharply backwards and was rewarded with a grunt of pain as his assailant fell away.

A fist cracked against his cheekbone and sent him stumbling, stars flashing in front of his eyes. He shook his head to clear it and reacted just in time to block a second blow from a big man named Jake. He was already close to Jake; he stepped in even closer and hooked his foot behind the man's leg. A quick pull with his foot and a push against Jake's chest had him toppling, taking down Ed again at the same time.

Arms wrapped around him from behind again. Gordon ducked into a low crouch, bending forward; with a quick twist, the person – Harvey – flew off his back, knocking Jake and Ed down once again in a flailing tangle of limbs.

Then there was a roaring voice to his right, and as he spun, he was aware of something swinging viciously toward his head. He dodged, and it caught his shoulder instead. The ferocity of the blow knocked him off his feet, a blaze of pain erupting in his shoulder and flashing down his arm like lightning. He hit the deck hard, the air whooshing from his lungs so that he had no more strength to fight as the crew piled on top of him.

There was a brief moment where he was battered on all sides as the crew got in a few vengeful kicks and punches, clearly not willing to let the fight be over – especially since he could no longer fight back.

"Enough!" Bloom's voice broke up the scuffle.

Gordon felt himself being dragged to his feet. He was dazed, but he mustered up the energy to glare as his gaze settled on Captain Bloom.

Bloom was holding an oar – apparently the weapon he'd used to strike Gordon's shoulder. "Throw him in the hold," he ordered. "Maybe some time in the dark, with no food or water, will improve his behavior!"

The world swirled around Gordon as he was marched below deck and down another couple of levels to the cargo hold, the second-lowest part of the ship – the lowest being the bilges, where the ballast was kept. Dark and often damp, the hold extended the length of the ship but had a low ceiling and was usually only used for storage, not as a living area.

Ricky opened the hatch to the dark space. Ed and Marco thrust Gordon inside, sending him stumbling down the narrow steps. They slammed the hatch behind him and secured it with a padlock, leaving Gordon in pitch black darkness.

Gordon let out a long, shaky sigh and sat down on the steps. The adrenaline of the fight wore off quickly, leaving in its wake exhaustion, despair and quite a few aches and pains. Drawing his knees up to his chest, he supported his right arm with his left, trying to ease the ache in his shoulder.

Even greater than the physical pain, though, was the mental agony of knowing that he had probably just given up any chance he would get to sneak into the radio room and contact his family. He sighed again, knowing that it wouldn't do any good to dwell on what-ifs – if he could go back in time, he would have done everything exactly the same way. He might very well have saved the lives of those on the yacht, and that was enough for the time being.

He felt his way down the steps and found a dry patch of floor to sit on. Shivering a little in the cool, damp air of the hold, he curled up and soon dozed off.


	6. Chapter 6

_Another shorter one…_

 **Chapter Six**

On Wednesday morning, Jeff took one look at the pleading expression in his sons' eyes and sent them out in the Thunderbirds to begin searching the Pacific. Given the amount of territory to cover, it was a nearly hopeless search – they all knew that – but at least it was something positive to do.

Scott was in Thunderbird One, Virgil flew Two, and Alan grumblingly took one of the jets, since Three wasn't exactly ideal for flying in a mid-altitude search pattern.

John checked in briefly a little while after the others had left, his voice distracted as he told Jeff that he was working on the suggestion someone had made that he modify one of Thunderbird Five's scanners to pick up the frequency of cloaked vessels.

Jeff didn't try to talk him out of it, even though he knew that John had set himself up with a project that could potentially take years to complete.

Jeff himself was trying to get some work done, although he found his gaze frequently straying from his papers and settling instead on either the vidphone or on Gordon's portrait on the wall.

Why hadn't the kidnappers called yet? Were they hoping that the suspense of having to wait forty-eight hours would lead Jeff to pay up more quickly? Or had something happened to Gordon while he was in the clutches of his kidnappers so that the call would _never_ come?

Jeff shook his head. He couldn't let himself think like that. Gordon was a strong, resourceful young man, he told himself. The aquanaut was a lot smarter than he liked to let on, too, and Jeff wouldn't be at all surprised if Gordon himself was working to provide the clues necessary for his family to find him.

A brief smile flitted across Jeff's face as he imagined the havoc his prankster son could wreak against his kidnappers. He wouldn't feel any need to hold himself back from causing trouble, that was for sure.

Then Jeff found himself frowning again, remembering the blood splatters on Gordon's shirt, evidence that his son had fought back but been overpowered.

Grandma had gasped at first when she saw the shirt – they had tried to hide it from her, but she had insisted on knowing what had them so pale – but then she had tutted and whisked it away, washing the stains out and sewing the buttons back on. She was, she had told them firmly, getting it ready for Gordon when he returned, as it was one of his favorite shirts.

With a start, Jeff realized that he'd been lost in his thoughts for several minutes. He made himself turn back to his work, though he kept one ear open as his boys' voices maintained a near-constant chatter over the comm. systems. Scott's updates came the fastest, in clipped, unemotional tones – "Sector 898, clear." Virgil's voice, calm and steady, but with a timbre that just barely hinted at the depth of feelings roiling up within him, spoke up about half as often as Scott's did. Alan, unusually somber, added his input every once in a while. There was a hint of grumbling in his tone, undoubtedly due to being stuck in the comparably slow jet.

Jeff shifted, and winced as his foot struck a case on the floor under his desk. Late the day before, an armored jet had arrived, bearing one nearly apoplectic bank manager and a large suitcase packed with five million dollars. Jeff had met the plane on the runway and signed for the money, managing to send the man back on his way within minutes, neatly dodging all his thinly-veiled questions.

His sons' eyebrows had gone up at the size of the suitcase – five million dollars weighed around a hundred pounds. They were used to wealth, but still hadn't ever seen so much money all in one place before.

Jeff's eyes fell on the ransom note next, a frequent distraction for him over the previous couple of days. It lay on his desk, barely touched so as to preserve any fingerprints.

Finally giving up on trying to work, Jeff instead got to his feet to pace around. He'd debated long and hard about calling in the police or the FBI, but doubted that they could provide any real help – and they could, in fact, be a hindrance if the family decided to use more of International Rescue's technology to search for Gordon. He had finally settled on a compromise – they would rescue Gordon, and then call in the authorities to arrest the kidnappers.

He smiled ruefully – his sons had been very satisfied with that decision, as it would potentially give them the opportunity to enact a little revenge upon the kidnappers before the police showed up.

Kyrano brought him a tray of sandwiches for lunch, his face calm but sympathy showing in his dark eyes. Jeff took a bite of the food mechanically, barely tasting it, listening to the monotonous drone of the discouraged voices over the radio, each flat, "Sector clear," resonating with a dull thump in his stomach.

Looking at his watch, he saw that it had now been forty-eight hours since they had discovered Gordon's disappearance, making it more like fifty-two since he had been kidnapped.

"Sector 622 clear," Alan sighed.

Jeff sighed too, pushing his plate away after only a few bites. It was going to be another long day.


	7. Chapter 7

**Chapter Seven**

When Gordon woke up unable to see, he panicked for a split second before he felt the roll of the ship and remembered where he was. With a groan, he slowly pushed himself up into a sitting position, leaning against a rough wooden barrel. He winced as the movement made his sore shoulder throb, and he carefully reached up to explore the injury.

He had a deep gash on his shoulder and upper arm; he could feel dried blood that had run all down his arm. The skin around the injury was bruised and swollen.

"Note to self," he muttered, his voice sounding strange in the darkness. "An oar makes a pretty good weapon."

He sat quietly for a while, just resting, aware that as soon as he tried to stand, he was going to feel a dozen other smaller injuries. His stomach growled and he sighed sadly – but then brightened as he remembered that he still had a couple granola bars stashed in his pockets. He didn't have any water, but he was generally a fan of taking things one problem at a time.

He ate one granola bar and saved the other one for later. "I wonder if it's still Wednesday," he said out loud. There was no way to tell whether it was day or night.

Finally, he decided to quit dawdling and cautiously pushed himself up to his feet. He stood still for a minute, not caring much for the dizzy feeling of blindness. He wished he'd gotten a better look around the hold before they had shut the hatch. Virgil probably could have produced a detailed sketch from that split-second glance, but Gordon just had a vague impression of narrow steps and shapes that were probably barrels or crates.

Left hand outstretched, Gordon carefully began shuffling along, determined to explore his prison. What he most wanted to find out was whether there was a second hatch, and if so, whether it was locked.

Using the motion of the ship to guide himself, he managed to walk in a relatively straight line toward the stern, occasionally stubbing his toes on barrels and tripping over coils of rope.

Suddenly his head hit something, sending him stumbling back a step, stars flashing in front of his eyes. As the pain subsided, though, Gordon realized what he must have run into and groped forward. To his excitement, he felt evenly spaced pieces of wood – stairs. He scrambled up the narrow steps, keeping his hand over his head so he wouldn't run into the hatch covering the entrance.

His hand hit the hatch, and he felt around it, identifying the hinges on one end and a latch of some sort on the other. His mouth was suddenly dry as he tried the latch – if they had locked this one too, then there was really nothing else he could do.

It opened, though, and Gordon felt the air rush from his lungs in a sigh of relief as dim light spilled into the hold.

Opening the hatch just an inch, he paused to listen and to look around as much as possible through the narrow gap – to rush now would be to invite disaster. If he were caught, Bloom would probably have him bound before putting him back in the hold.

No one seemed to be around, though. After waiting a couple minutes, Gordon pushed the hatch open a little higher and slithered out onto the deck.

He quietly dropped the hatch back down into place and looked around, trying to figure out where he was – it was just an empty, dimly-lit hallway. He thought about it and decided that he was probably two levels below the main deck, so he needed to get up one level in order to find the radio room.

He crept along the hallway, starting at every creak and groan of the ship. Things seemed unusually quiet, and he wondered where everyone was.

Finding a set of stairs, he ascended to the next level and was happy to find himself near the galley – now he knew where he was. He stopped briefly for some water, but regretfully decided that food would have to wait for the time being – as hungry as he was, he had more important things to do first.

Noticing a small flashlight hanging on a hook near the door of the galley, he pocketed it, not eager to experience total darkness again anytime soon if he could help it.

Gordon headed back into the hall, moving stealthily. He heard snoring behind the door that he'd discovered to be a cabin the day before…or had that been two days earlier? He shook his head, confused. He felt like falling asleep in the hold had totally messed up his sense of time. In any case, he was pretty sure that it must be the middle of the night, which would make it late Wednesday or perhaps early Thursday.

His heart beat faster as he approached the radio room. He stood outside the door for several minutes, just listening. There was some sort of constant, murmuring voice that he eventually decided was a TV. Nothing else stirred in the room for a full five minutes, though, and finally Gordon reached slowly for the doorknob.

He carefully turned the knob and eased the door open an inch at a time, all his senses on full alert for any sight, sound or movement that would indicate that he had been spotted.

It was rather anticlimactic to discover that the room was unattended. An empty chair sat by the computer desk, and a TV flickered in the corner.

Gordon still entered the room warily, though – the lights were on, which made him think that perhaps the radio man had simply gone up to the deck for a breath of fresh air – or for a breath of smoky air, as the case may be. He'd have to work fast, just to be on the safe side.

First things first…he glanced around the room and saw a metal cabinet conveniently labeled "Cloaking Device." He opened the cabinet, and there was a big, obvious "On/Off" switch. Mentally cheering, Gordon flipped the switch to "Off," and then cringed, waiting for alarms to sound.

Nothing happened.

Breathing a sigh of relief, Gordon dropped into the chair and scooted over to the radio set.

Suddenly familiar words from the TV caught his attention, and he paused to listen.

"In other news, the whole world is abuzz with the mysterious behavior of International Rescue this week. On Monday, the famous rescue organization announced that they were going offline for an undetermined length of time due to circumstances beyond their control. Today, Thunderbirds One and Two were spotted over the Pacific by multiple individuals, who report that the rescue ships seemed to be searching for something…"

A torrent of conflicting emotions rushed through Gordon – he wanted to pull his hair out in frustration even as a grin threatened to spread across his face. So they were attempting to search the whole Pacific for him, huh? That was _awesome_ …but it also meant that his family had been unsuccessful in tracking him down any other way. Gordon could read between the lines, and knew that his father and brothers were desperate and discouraged.

"Okay, guys," he murmured. "Let's see if I can help you out here."

He flicked the radio on and held the microphone close to his mouth. "Calling International Rescue," he said in a low tone. "Calling International Rescue!" He covered his mouth to stifle a laugh, suddenly feeling giddy – he'd always wanted to call John like that.

There was a clicking sound, and Gordon's heart dropped into his stomach as a mechanical voice replied, telling him that International Rescue was offline. It clicked again and began cycling through the same message in other languages.

"No, no, no!" he cried, grabbing the microphone again. "Calling International Rescue! John, are you listening? It's me, Gordon!"

He held his breath, waiting. He honestly wasn't sure if John _would_ be listening, since he'd put the system on auto, and considering that it was one in the morning, according to the clock on the wall.

It felt like minutes had passed, but it was really only a couple seconds before the recorded message – now speaking in French – halted abruptly, and John's breathless voice came on the line.

"Gordon?" he gasped. "Gordon, come in! Are you still there?"

Gordon closed his eyes in relief. "Yeah, I'm here." So much for his plan to act like a random kidnapped person, he thought wryly.

"Gordon," John breathed, all the warmth in the world filling his voice. "You have no idea how good it is to hear your voice. Are you okay? Where are you?"

"I'm still on the _Sea Bird,_ " Gordon replied. "Listen, John, I'm not sure how long I'll have before someone comes back, so I've gotta make this quick. Can you track this signal? They had a cloaking device, but I turned it off, so there shouldn't be any interference."

"I've got you on my scanners right now," John said, his tone satisfied. "You're only two hundred fifty miles from home, so it shouldn't take the guys long to get there."

Gordon frowned. "They'll use the helijet or something, won't they? Remember, these guys know who I am. If the Thunderbirds show up, they might be able to put two and two together."

"What about the speedboat?" John asked. "Seems to me it'd be more stealthy than the helijet."

"Yeah, that'd work," Gordon agreed. "If they run her at seventy knots, they'd be here in a little over three hours, so that would still be before dawn. If they cut the engines a little ways out – and if I can figure out how to disable the scanners here – they should be able to approach undetected and get me out of here before the pirates wake up. Hey, are the police going to be in on this?"

"We'll schedule them to arrive a little bit after the guys get there," John said.

Gordon hit a few switches on the scanner, adjusting the parameters so that vessels the size of his family's speedboat would be excluded from its sensors. "All right, I've adjusted the scanners. Listen, John, I'm going to go find somewhere to hide until they get here. If possible, I'll try to meet them on the deck."

"Okay, Gords," John said softly. "Hang in there just a bit longer, okay? The others will be on their way in just a couple minutes." His voice turned dry. "Oh, and I wouldn't count on Scott restraining himself to a mere seventy knots, so if I were you, I'd plan on them arriving in less than three hours."

Gordon grinned. "Yeah, you're probably right. Okay, I'll talk to you soon, John – hopefully in person!"

"FAB!" John signed off.

Gordon stood up, stifling a groan. He looked ruefully down at his bare, bruised torso and arms, then shrugged – his family had seen him looking far worse.

He crept from the room and made his way up to the deck, pausing every few steps to listen in case anyone was coming. Just as he was about to go up the companionway steps to the deck, he finally heard movement overhead. He quickly ducked behind the steps and crouched down in a dark corner.

The hatch opened and a man clumped down the steps. The air wafting over Gordon smelled of cigarette smoke, confirming Gordon's guess as to what the man had been doing.

The man walked out of sight, and a moment later, Gordon heard a door close further down the hall.

Gordon waited another couple minutes, then continued up onto the deck, pushing the hatch open as little as possible in case there was anyone else outside who might see the light.

He climbed up onto the deck and glided into the shadows near the gunwale, watching and listening for movement. At the same time, he kept an eye open for a good hiding spot.

He considered climbing up to the crow's nest and hiding there – he could potentially spot his family coming from a distance and signal them with the flashlight – but dismissed that idea after a moment. He'd be too easy to see while climbing up or down, suspended in the shroud lines.

Eventually he decided to hide under the overturned lifeboat on the main deck, mostly because it was near the rope ladder.

Slipping under the edge of the tarp, he settled in to wait.


	8. Chapter 8

**Chapter Eight**

Virgil took a step back to stare gloomily at the painting he was working on. He knew that Scott would try to hide a grimace when he saw it – it was a dark, abstract swirl of colors that perfectly illustrated Virgil's feelings. Painting was one of Virgil's ways of keeping from going crazy under the pressure. Scott understood that, even though he didn't necessarily like it – he'd pick a physical outlet any day.

It wasn't as though he _wanted_ to paint the darkness, Virgil thought, but sometimes it felt almost as though he had no choice – the emotions were so overwhelming that he had to get them out somehow. He'd tried Scott's methods before – running or using a punching bag – and they helped to some extent, but sometimes the situation just called for a blank canvas and a whole lot of paint.

He jabbed viciously at the canvas, leaving a series of crimson blobs down the middle of the painting, an echo of the drops of blood they had found on Gordon's shirt.

Yes, Scott would definitely frown. But he wouldn't say anything, because he would recognize his own feelings splattered across that canvas too.

Their little brother had been kidnapped. By murderers. And it had been roughly sixty-four hours since he had been taken, with no contact – a very bad sign in kidnappings. Virgil dipped his brush in black paint and swirled a giant circle around the outer edges of the painting, roughly stroking in lines like a clock.

That made him think to glance at the real clock on his wall, and he grimaced when he saw that it was a few minutes after one. He was exhausted and knew he really ought to go to bed, but his vivid imagination had been supplying him with plenty of nightmares lately, and he wasn't eager to see what his mind would come up with tonight.

He jumped violently as the klaxon sounded. Wait, the klaxon? International Rescue was offline; how could the klaxon be going off?

Despite his confusion, his feet automatically carried him toward the lounge at a run. Everyone crowded into the room – including Grandma, Tintin, Kyrano and Brains – hoping for news.

One look at John's portrait, and Virgil knew that it was not only news, but very good news.

John was grinning widely, blue eyes sparkling. Speaking so quickly they could barely understand him, he exclaimed, "I just had contact from Gordon!"

The babble of excited questions kept him from continuing for a moment.

Jeff held up a hand to silence everyone. "Where is he, John?" he asked. "Is he all right?"

"He's still on the _Sea Bird_ ," John said. "I think he's okay. You guys need to get going in the speedboat, though – it sounds like he's managed to sneak out of wherever they were keeping him, and I got the impression that he'll be in trouble if they figure out that he's loose. He said he'll be hiding somewhere on the deck, waiting for you."

"All right, boys, let's not keep Gordon waiting!" Jeff exclaimed.

Virgil hadn't changed into his pajamas yet, so he was ready to go. He smiled wryly as he noticed that his father and brothers were still dressed too – apparently he hadn't been the only one reluctant to go to bed.

The four of them trotted down to the boat shed. Scott claimed the controls, and in his expert hands they were soon flying through the water at considerably more than the seventy knots the boat normally did. John had fed the coordinates into their navigation system, and they all found themselves transfixed by the numbers that were counting down the time until their arrival.

John's voice came over the radio after a few minutes. "I've contacted the police, and they should arrive a few minutes after you guys get there. My recommendation is that you extract Gordon as quickly as possible, and leave the kidnappers for the police."

"We'll see," Scott growled.

"Well, just know that I'm planning on coming down there as soon as possible, and I'll like it a lot better if all of you are in one piece when I get home," John retorted.

The conversation died down then, and Virgil watched as the time steadily ticked away, nervous butterflies beginning to flutter in his stomach the closer they got. Scott began slowing down when they were five minutes out, gradually reducing his speed until the engine was barely turning over.

Virgil looked ahead and saw a few dim lights, outlining a bulky shape in the water – the galleon. His breath caught in his throat as a small light near the middle of the ship suddenly blinked several times in rapid succession. He grabbed Scott's arm. Being careful to keep his voice low so the sound wouldn't carry across the water, he muttered, "Look – Gordon's signaling us."

Jeff and Alan crowded up close behind them to see what was going on.

"'Which way are you going?'" Alan interpreted out loud, even though they could all read the Morse code signal easily. "'Looking for ride to Tracy Island.'" Alan laughed.

Scott snorted. "Only Gordon would try to hitchhike across the Pacific. Acknowledge him, Virg, but don't signal any more than that."

Virgil flashed a light quickly to acknowledge that they had received Gordon's message.

They pulled alongside the ship and followed a couple blinks of Gordon's light to a rope ladder. Jeff practically shoved his way past his sons in order to be the first up the ladder, with Scott hot on his heels. Virgil and Alan hurried to tie the boat to a ring in the side of the galleon, and then dropped rubber floats between the two vessels so that they wouldn't bump together loudly.

When Virgil and Alan climbed up onto the deck a moment later, Gordon was wrapped tightly in Jeff's arms, while Scott ruffled his hair.

"I'm okay," Gordon was saying, his voice muffled by Jeff's shirt.

"Are you really, son?" Jeff asked, his own voice sounding a little muffled, but for a different reason. He took a half-step back in an attempt to look Gordon up and down. It was too dark to really see him, though.

Virgil snatched the opportunity to crowd in and grab Gordon in a quick hug of his own, feeling the need to touch his brother, as if to make sure he was really there. "Nice to see you, Gords," he murmured. Then he frowned as he felt tremors running through his younger brother's body. "You're shivering."

"It's mostly just from the adrenaline," Gordon replied, but he still murmured his thanks when Scott instantly shrugged out of his jacket and handed it to him. He put it on and the shivers eased a little.

Alan's greeting was a little more casual, but heartfelt. "Dude, I thought I told you not to get shanghaied!"

"Uh, I was kidnapped, not shanghaied," Gordon retorted. "Big difference!"

"All right, boys, let's get out of here," Jeff said in a low voice. "The police will be here soon, and I'd rather we were all out of the firing line."

They started to turn toward the gunwale – and then froze as they were suddenly illuminated in brilliant light.

"Going somewhere?" a cold voice demanded.


	9. Chapter 9

**Chapter Nine**

Gordon found himself shoved unceremoniously behind his father and brothers – including Alan – as the lights came on and Captain Bloom spoke up.

Bloom, with his trademark feathered hat, looked particularly pirate-like as he stood silhouetted against a spotlight. The only thing out of place was the sleek, modern handgun that he held trained on them with an ease that spoke of expertise.

Shouts and thundering feet could be heard from below as someone roused the crew. They would come pouring out from the companionway hatch at any moment, and they would likely be armed too. Gordon hid a grimace – the last thing he wanted was for his family to be in danger because of him.

"So you're the famous Jeff Tracy," Bloom said coolly. "And these must be your other sons." His voice turned sarcastic. "It's been a real pleasure getting to know Gordon the past few days."

Jeff spoke up, his voice calm, steady and firm. "Don't try to stop us – just put down the gun and let us go. You've lost this game already; don't make things worse for yourself."

"Have I lost?" Bloom countered. "Seems to me like I've won – after all, I've just gained several more bargaining chips!"

Men crowded up onto the deck, surrounding the family, cutting off the route back to the speedboat.

Virgil and Alan positioned themselves so that they were flanking Gordon, while Scott and Jeff stood side by side facing Bloom. "You're making a mistake," Jeff growled.

Bloom snapped back, "I don't think so. Men, seize them!"

Instant chaos ensued as the circle of men – Gordon counted twelve – surged forward. They really didn't know what they were getting themselves into, Gordon thought with a smirk.

He watched with great satisfaction as Scott felled Ed with a single fierce punch. Alan had Harvey backing away with a series of lightning jabs and Virgil was using his old football skills to good effect, tackling Jake to the deck. Their father was in the thick of things, too, trading blows with Marco. He feinted, then downed Marco with a terrific punch to the gut.

Ricky dove in toward Gordon. Mindful of his sore shoulder, Gordon dodged the blow and helped Ricky stumble past him with a shove, kicking his feet out from under him and sending him sprawling headlong on the deck.

Another man, whose name Gordon had never caught, leapt forward, but Virgil shoved himself in front of Gordon, fists raised, and backed the man away.

Gordon rolled his eyes and turned to face Ricky again, who had scrambled back up to his feet, face red with anger. A determined set to his jaw, Ricky shuffled closer, clearly dredging up footwork from some long-ago boxing class.

"Okay," Gordon said, mirroring Ricky's pose. "You want to box? Why not? That's more my brother Scott's thing" – he nodded toward Scott, who had just dealt another crippling blow to an opponent – "but hey, I'll give it a shot."

Ricky's lips tightened – which, coming from him, was probably the height of trash talk. He rushed in with all the grace of a penguin on land and threw a series of punches.

Gordon dodged or blocked them all without even having to move his feet. He threw a couple quick jabs of his own, landing them just hard enough to rile up his opponent.

Ricky flew into a rage. "I'll kill you!" he roared, lunging forward.

Gordon reflected that those were the first words he had heard from Ricky – and that they would be the last, as he met the man's charge with an uppercut to the chin.

Ricky's eyes glazed over, and he crumpled to the deck, out cold.

Gordon took a few steps back, suddenly feeling almost like he might pass out himself. Briefly, he wondered why, before it occurred to him that all he'd eaten in the previous twenty-four hours was a single granola bar. Besides that, he was dehydrated and sleep-deprived.

No one was coming after him for the moment, so he stood back and watched the fight as he waited for his head to stop spinning. Despite the pirates' superior numbers, the tide of battle was turning against them. Only a few were actually still fighting. Two men were down completely. Ed had made it back to his feet, but was weaving around drunkenly. Others hung back at the edges or even crept toward the companionway hatch. Gordon frowned as he scanned the men, suddenly realizing that he hadn't seen Captain Bloom for a few minutes.

Hearing motors in the distance, Gordon turned and saw the flashing lights of a couple police boats rapidly approaching. A voice, amplified with a megaphone, echoed across the water, telling the ship to heave to and ordering all hands to report to the deck.

"Gordon!" Scott's voice, sharp and urgent, cut through all the other noise like a knife, snapping Gordon's focus back to the deck.

He just barely caught a glimpse of motion to one side before Captain Bloom slammed into him. He crashed to the deck under Bloom's weight, his head bouncing off the hard wooden surface. Brilliant stars flashed in front of his vision; he tried to blink them away.

Hard fingers dug into his throat, cutting off his air.

"You ruined everything," Bloom snarled into his face. "For that, I'm going to make sure your family doesn't get you back alive!"

Gordon tried to fight, but his right arm had no strength and Bloom had his left arm pinned down. Things started to go gray around the edges, his lungs aching with the need for air.

Then there was an explosion of movement, and suddenly Bloom was snatched away from him and hurled back several feet in a single, powerful move.

 _Scott,_ Gordon thought, coughing as he gasped in air.

His oldest brother stood over him, every muscle tense as he faced Bloom. The hardened pirate took a step back at the ferocity in Scott's eyes. "Get away from my brother - _now_ ," Scott growled, his hands clenching into fists.

Bloom began backing away, but stole a hand toward his pocket at the same time. Scott, ever alert, saw the movement and was at the man's side in a single bound, swinging his fist around in a wide, sweeping punch that had every bit of his weight behind it. The blow caught Bloom on the point of the chin, and the pirate flew backwards, landing in a crumpled heap on the deck. His gun skittered away across the wooden floor.

Gordon couldn't watch any more, because suddenly Virgil's concerned face was right in front of him, saying things to him.

Gordon didn't try to understand the words, more interested in something else. "Someone broke your nose," he said hoarsely. Things were coming back into focus. He noticed that he was sitting up and that the fight had been finished by the arrival of the police on the scene – the pirates were already being rounded up and handcuffed.

Virgil rolled his eyes and used his sleeve to swipe gingerly at the blood dripping from his nose. "Yeah, but don't worry about that. I want to know how _you_ are. Are you hurt anywhere?"

Gordon shrugged, hiding a wince. "I'm fine," he said. "Hey, look, Alan got a black eye! Ooh, that's gonna be a colorful one." He raised his voice. "Nice shiner, Al!"

Alan grinned and gave him a thumbs up.

Hands gently grabbed either side of his face, turning his head back toward Virgil, whose brown eyes were somewhere between patient, amused and annoyed. "Gordon, can you please focus for just one minute?"

Gordon met Virgil's gaze. "I'm fine," he said seriously. "I'm a little bruised here and there, and I'm really looking forward to Grandma's cooking. But other than that, I'm really okay now that you guys are here and I get to go home."

Virgil smiled, relieved, and helped pull Gordon to his feet.

His smiled vanished, however, when Gordon added cheerfully, "I guess I might have a concussion too, and I probably need stitches in my shoulder. But, hey, could be worse!"

Virgil growled at him. " _Gordon_ …"

Jeff, Scott and Alan walked up to them then, Scott sliding an arm around Gordon and casting Virgil an inquisitive glance.

Virgil rolled his eyes and shook his head, glowering slightly.

Scott frowned.

Jeff broke into the silent communication, probably aware of it but deciding that it was best to ignore it. "We're clear to leave," he said. "I've arranged for the police to stop by the island tomorrow and take our statements. Gordon, are you ready to go home, son?"

Gordon's grin was answer enough, but he spoke out loud too. "FAB, Dad!"

Jeff shot him a warning glance, but he was smiling. "Then let's not waste any more time here!"

Since the speedboat was not a practical place to evaluate or treat injuries, Virgil contented himself with wrapping Gordon up in blankets and making him lie down on a bench seat. Bundled up, and with the steady roar of the engine acting as white noise, Gordon drifted off to sleep just as the first light of dawn began to spread across the eastern sky.

 _Just one more chapter to go to wrap things up! Thanks for sticking with me through this story!_


	10. Chapter 10

**Chapter Ten**

Scott cut the motors and let the speedboat glide the last few yards, drifting to a gentle halt against the dock. He sighed wearily and rolled his shoulders – the tension of the past few days had left him sore and achy. Punching out a few pirates probably hadn't helped, although it had felt fantastic at the time.

The remainder of the island's residents were all waiting on the dock, their faces alight with eager anticipation, all of their eyes going straight to the figure bundled up in blankets on the speedboat's bench seat. Scott wasn't surprised to see John among them; he must have had Brains and Tintin go up in Three to get him.

John was in the boat before it had stopped moving, slipping onto the seat beside Gordon and carefully pulling the edge of the blanket back. He looked down at Gordon for a moment, his face softening, before glancing back up at Scott and Virgil. "How is he?" he asked quietly.

Virgil shrugged, slinging on his backpack full of medical supplies with slow, tired motions. "I think he's more or less okay. I haven't really had a chance to look him over yet, though."

"Should I wake him up?" John asked.

A mumbled voice answered John's question before Virgil could. "I'm up."

John bent over Gordon, grinning. "Hey, kiddo! Nice to see you! How are you feeling?"

"I'm good," Gordon replied, although it was clearly an automatic response, as he flinched while pushing himself up into a sitting position. He looked pale and drawn, but he smiled around at his family and friends. "Welcome home," he told John.

John laughed. "Uh, thanks. Same to you!"

Virgil stepped to Gordon's side; together, he and John gently eased Gordon to his feet.

Gordon rolled his eyes. "Guys, I'm not an invalid," he complained halfheartedly.

They ignored his protests, helping him up onto the dock.

Scott stayed behind to help Alan secure the boat and gather up the supplies they'd brought along, but he watched the reunion out of the corner of his eye.

Grandma met Gordon with a warm embrace, holding him tight for a long moment, tears sparkling in her eyes. "Welcome home, sweetie," she murmured.

"Thanks, Grandma," Gordon replied. He winked at her. "Hey, so I told those pirates about the way you cook, and they were thinking about switching the ransom to a home-cooked meal instead of the five million in cash."

She laughed at the compliment and took the thinly-veiled hint. Smiling, she gestured up toward the house. "Well, come on up, and I'll have breakfast ready in just a few minutes!"

"Lead the way!" Gordon sang out, looping his arm through Grandma's.

Scott frowned as he noticed that Gordon was only using his left arm; the right hung limp at his side most of the time.

"But – but – the infirmary," Virgil sputtered. "I need to look him over!"

"After breakfast," Grandma told him firmly. "I'm sure you're all hungry, and you'll be able to think better after you've eaten."

Scott was inclined to agree with Virgil – he didn't think he could really relax until he knew for certain that Gordon was okay – but it was an unspoken Tracy rule to never argue with Grandma. And besides, she was right – after the long, active night, he was ravenously hungry, and he was sure everyone else must be as well.

Ten minutes later, Scott let out a sigh of pure happiness as he took a bite of fluffy pancakes dripping with butter and maple syrup. Grandma had whipped up all of Gordon's favorite breakfast foods – and most of them just so happened to be Scott's favorites too.

Gordon praised Grandma's cooking profusely, his face blissful as he ate. He only finished half his food, though, before he began to visibly droop, clearly struggling to keep his eyes open. He dropped out of the conversation, sagging back in his chair.

Scott caught Virgil's eye, and they both nodded at the same time.

Virgil set his napkin aside and stood up. "C'mon, Gords," he said. "Let me check you out really quick, and then you can get to bed."

Gordon groaned and grumbled, but obeyed, slowly pushing himself to his feet. "Thanks for breakfast, Grandma," he said, giving her a quick kiss on the cheek before trailing after Virgil.

Scott gave the food on his plate one quick, regretful glance before excusing himself as well, hurrying after his brothers. John and Alan caught up with him at the infirmary door.

Virgil was standing in front of the exam table, blocking their view. As they stepped up to the doorway, he turned to look at them, and the mix of sorrow and rage in his eyes sent a jolt through Scott. Virgil moved out of the way so they could see Gordon, and Scott felt rage cloud his own vision as he took in his younger brother's injuries.

Gordon's bare torso was covered with bruises, including a particularly dark one on his left side that was just beginning to fade into shades of yellow and green. It had a distinct shape, like the toe of a boot.

Gordon was sunburned, and raw red marks encircled his wrists, evidently from ropes. He had finger-shaped bruises on his arms, as well as on his throat from the pirate captain's last-ditch attempt to kill him.

What really made Scott's blood boil, though, was the six-inch-long gash running down Gordon's upper arm. The skin around it was darkly bruised, suggesting that Gordon had been struck with considerable force. There were long lines of dried blood that had trickled down his arm.

"Gordon," Alan breathed. "How did that _happen_?"

Gordon glanced down at the gash. "This?" He winced as Virgil began cleaning the wound out. "This is what happens when you get clobbered by an oar." He looked around at all of their faces. "C'mon, don't be like that, guys," he said in a low voice. "You've seen way worse than this!"

John shook his head. "Sure, you've had worse injuries, but never at the hands of people who intended you harm. That makes this _very_ different." He crossed his arms over his chest.

Gordon sighed. "Okay, you have a point, I guess. But you guys got your revenge, and the pirates are going to jail. Can we just call this a happy ending and move on?"

John looked disgruntled. "But _I_ didn't get to punch anyone," he complained, glancing at his brothers' raw knuckles.

Gordon laughed. "Well, Scotty can help you with the punching bag later," he said. "Maybe Virgil will even paint you a picture of a pirate to stick on it!"

The conversation went on in a similar fashion, and Scott leaned against the doorframe, watching with a smile as Gordon's indomitable sense of humor quickly got his brothers laughing and relaxed the tense set of their shoulders.

Life on the island had been far too quiet without their resident prankster around, he reflected. Gordon's role on the team went far beyond his ability to operate equipment at a rescue – he was the one who made sure they retained their sense of humor and kept things in perspective. He brought joy, energy and a sometimes overwhelming sense of _life_ to the team. Scott shuddered to think what would have happened to their family – and International Rescue – if they had not succeeded in bringing Gordon home.

There he was, though – dirty, tired, and a little battered, but smiling, that mischievous spark in his eye undimmed by the ordeal he'd been through.

Scott shook his head fondly as Gordon lost his train of thought mid-sentence and ended up yawning hugely.

Virgil finished wrapping a bandage around the wound and nodded to Scott.

Scott stepped forward. "All right, Squirt, let's get you to bed."

Gordon simply nodded and slid off the table, eyelids drooping.

Scott decided that Gordon would be more comfortable in his own bed rather than in the infirmary, so he led the way up to the bedrooms, Gordon trailing sleepily after him.

Gordon flopped into his bed and was asleep before Scott had finished tucking the blankets in around him.

Scott looked down at Gordon's peaceful face, and found that, as tired as he was, he didn't really want to leave. He stood by Gordon's bed, fingers gently smoothing down Gordon's hair, heart overflowing with gratitude as he watched the steady rise and fall of his little brother's chest.

Virgil came in after a few minutes and quietly pulled him away, his warm brown eyes amused but understanding.

The house was very quiet for the rest of the day as tired island residents caught up on lost sleep. It was a different kind of quiet than the breath-holding tension of the previous few days, though – it was peaceful.

 **Epilogue**

"Ouch, I stubbed my toe!"

"Gordon, are the blindfolds _really_ necessary?"

"Where are you taking us?"

"This had _better_ be worth getting up early for."

Gordon grinned. "Just a little bit further, guys. You'll see!" He noticed Alan's hand creeping up toward the blindfold on his face and slapped it back down, ignoring his brother's yelp of protest. "No peeking, Al!"

Gordon strode easily along a narrow jungle trail, while his brothers shuffled warily behind him, keeping up a constant grumbling murmur. Even John was present, Gordon having asked him to come down from Five for the day.

After a couple more minutes, they broke out into a clearing, and Gordon came to a halt. He remembered belatedly to tell his brothers to stop too, after Scott ran into his back. "Okay, guys, stop – stop! We're here! You can take the blindfolds off now."

His brothers quickly obeyed, blinking in the sunlight. They stared around, looking confused.

"Look up," Gordon told them.

As one, their heads tilted back, and the expressions on their faces changed to awe. Wary awe, but awe nonetheless.

"Uh, Gords…" Scott began.

"What _is_ it?" Virgil finished.

Comprehension flashed across Alan's face, and he laughed. "It's a ropes course," he exclaimed. "I've done this kind of thing before – you wear a safety harness and you have to climb around and go through all kinds of obstacles."

"You built all this?" Virgil demanded, studying the intricate arrangement of ropes, nets, ladders and wooden platforms.

"Yeah," Gordon said. "I got the idea on the _Sea Bird_ – it's good exercise."

It had been two months since Gordon's kidnapping. Once his shoulder had mostly healed, he had taken to disappearing into the jungle for hours at a time, acting very mysterious. Alan had tried to follow him a few times, but Gordon had always managed to lose him in the dense foliage.

"Who wants to go first?" Gordon asked, rubbing his hands together in glee. "Or do you want me to demonstrate so you guys know you don't have to be scared?"

That challenge got all four of his brothers up in the treetops at once, and they ended up spending all day conquering Gordon's rope course together – including dealing with a few traps he'd set for them. Gordon had even packed a picnic lunch for them; they sat on one of the bigger platforms to eat.

Later, watching his brothers swing from platform to platform, climb rope ladders and navigate nets – all while laughing like little kids – Gordon had a satisfied smile on his face. If the pirates of the _Sea Bird_ had had their way, he knew his family wouldn't be laughing right now. But the pirates hadn't counted on what happens when you mess with a Tracy.

"You coming, Gordon?" Alan called down to him from a platform fifteen feet higher.

Gordon began pulling himself hand over hand up the rope and heaved himself up onto the platform. Two narrow bridges stretched across a wide gap to the next platform. Gordon clipped his safety line in place and glanced over to make sure Alan's was attached too. "Right. Ready?"

In response, Alan grinned and began a countdown. "Three…two…one….go!"

Far below, Jeff smiled as he watched his youngest two sons race across the bridges. Gordon had shown him the ropes course while it was still in progress, and Jeff had been impressed. It was fun to see his sons getting good use out of it, especially considering the many hours of work Gordon had put into it.

He shook his head as he watched Gordon swing fearlessly across a horizontal line, fifty feet over the jungle floor. He'd kept an eye on his redheaded son over the eight weeks since the kidnapping, watching for signs that Gordon was troubled by the incident. He hadn't been too surprised when Gordon had simply moved on with life – he was just that sort of person. He took things a day at a time and did his best to enjoy every good moment and put bad moments in the past.

As for the rest of the family, they had mostly put the incident behind them as well, although Jeff knew that Scott still checked on Gordon regularly during the night, and Virgil could occasionally be seen staring broodingly at the scar on Gordon's shoulder. John called to chat more than usual, and Alan had accompanied Gordon every time he went fishing.

Jeff headed back to the house, a thought crossing his mind – as long as he was thinking about moving on, he really needed to make a trip to the mainland to return the suitcase full of ransom money so he could have more space under his desk!

 _Thanks to everyone for the great reviews along the way! I really appreciate your support, and I'm glad you enjoyed the story!_


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